The streets of NYC
by applesandcherries
Summary: You can never know, what can happen to you on your doorstep...One shot. SJ


The streets of NYC 

**Disclaimer:** Nothing mine...but a girl can dream, can't she? ;-)

**Summary:** Just a little story my mind forced me to write.

**A/N:** Sets before the show and it is my take, how the affair between our two favourite agents may have started.

Hope you enjoy!

I wander through the dark streets of New York City and suppress a shudder as a surprisingly strong gust of wind tries to creep through my coat.

I ask myself for the hundredth time in ten minutes as to why the hell I wanted to walk home, rather then to take the crowded, but warm subway and curse myself for being so stupid.

But then again, I could always curse Jack, for confusing my brain so much that it came to this decision all of its own.

I nod to myself, satisfied with this desicion and cross my arms over my chest in an attempt to hold another chill at bay.

Shaking my head, I wonder why the winters in New York must be _this_ cold, and ponder for a moment to get a transfer to a warmer place. Florida. Miami. Yeah, Miami sounds good.

Definitely good.

I shudder again and my mind drifts back to Jack.

Jack. My boss. I groan as I remember why I am wandering through New York's dark, icy and not particularly safe streets on a Friday night. Then again, I am a trained FBI agent.

An FBI agent five months into the job.

I close my eyes momentarily, my supervisor's face drifting into my mind.

I smirk to myself. He looked so cute tonight. His hair sticking up from his head and his dark eyes with a playful glint in them. And his mouth.

I sigh softly.

His mouth as this teasing smile quirked his lips. Unconciously, I lick my own.

"Shouldn't drink so much of this stuff, Sam." He had said, as he saw the big mug of black coffee sitting on the edge of my desk. I had just shrugged, and grinned back at him.

Sam. Were had that come from? Nobody called me Sam- not even my own mother, because she was afraid of the death glare I would give her each time.

And he had never called me Sam before. Always Samantha. In my first weeks in the New York office, it was Agent Spade. But never Sam.

Sam.

I like it.

Rounding the last corner into my street, I hunch my shoulders against another blast of wind and groan annoyed as I notice the first snow falling from the sky in my face. I breathe a puff of air and speed up to reach the warmth of my apartment before I'm frozen to death. I hate the cold. Especially the arctic temperatures that seem to have fallen over the city.

Rummaging in my pocket for my keys, which is a little harder than usual with frozen fingers, I slowly get a little agitated as I can't find them anywhere.

I jump, as I hear a deep, gruff and unbelievably sexy voice behind me.

"Searching for those?"

I turn around and see Jack standing at the foot of my steps, my keys dangling from his in thick gloves covered hands.

I smile shyly and a little embarassed at him and give him a nod.

"Yeah." I breathe. "Thanks." Shortly, I wonder if my foggy brain has left them on my desk in the office. Must have.

He closes the distance between us and is finally standing close, _really _close, in front of me, handing me my missed item.

He shrugges, his voice seeming to drop an octave as he mumbles, "You're welcome".

My voice seems to have left me, and I curse myself and him for doing this to me again.

I clear my throat and rasp, "You didn't have to drive all the way down here. I could just have asked the janitor to give me his keys...".

He shrugges again. "That's okay, don't worry. This way I could check if you got home okay." He admits and my voice flees my throat again.

"Why would you want to walk home in this cold, anyway?" he asks and for a moment I can just stare at him, trying to comprehend his words.

I must look as striken as I feel, because he adds a little apologetic, "I saw you walking in the opposite direction from the subway station." He shrugs again.

He seems to be doing that a lot, I think.

"Uhm...I...don't know. Usually I hate the cold. Well, not usually. I _always _hate the cold and..." I know I'm babbling, but I can't seem to hold one coherent thought at the moment.

I debate banging my head against my front door, but decide against it, knowing how silly that must look. Then again, I must look silly now, too, standing in front of my door, gaping up at him.

Banging head against door, or going ahead with gaping at him?

Tough decision. Really.

Finally, I settle for a shy, "You wanna come in and warm up a little? I could make some coffee or tea."

He seems to seriously ponder my question, but then slowly shakes his head.

I feel my heart sink.

"Not tonight. We both need to catch up on some sleep." He says.

Not tonight. Not tonight? Knowing that the invitation was still in the open for future opportunities, I beam blandly up at him, knowing that I must look silly all over again.

I really don't care.

He smiles back down at me, and I can feel my heart dancing a rapid tango in my chest.

My breath catches in my throat as he bends down and drops a chaste kiss onto my cheek, causing it to burn hot and melt every snowflake that lands on it. I swallow hard, forcing myself not to drop dead onto my doorstep. Not that I'd notice. If I would die right know, I'm sure I would go right to heaven.

"Night, Sam." He whispers and I suddenly can't imagine him calling me any other name ever again.

"Night, Jack." I whisper back.

Smiling, he turns and heads back down to his car, but before he gets in, he waits for me to step over the threshold and close the door behind me.

As I stand, grinning stupidly, in my corridor, the cold's not bothering me anymore.

No.

Not at all.

-fin-


End file.
